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John puttered around the house, slowly without any real direction. The house sat on a hill over looking the Pacific Ocean, a wide expanse of lush green irrigated grass, surrounded by the brown of the sage brush and tumble weed that was normal for the area. John walked from empty room to empty room adjusting a knick knack here a Hummel there. At 43 John was once again alone and totally unprepared for it.
John had made his fortune on the stock market a couple of years ago. He still had not adjusted to having money, he'd scrambled and worked for everything he'd gotten in life. As the money began to pour in and the stock grew, split and grew again, the modest investment turned into a living thing, needing management, constant attention, he'd become obsessed with amassing wealth. Now the thrill of it was gone, the money pulled from the stock market, more than he could ever spend.
He'd played with some of it, bought toys, boats, planes, and real estate. He bought some of the least desirable real-estate and some of the best. The worst became a housing complex, once again doubling his fortune, the best a resort complex he still had ownership in. The contest of money had lost its flavor for him, gone were most of the fancy cars, the gold digging women, the constant battle for favor. Instead it was just John, his wood shop and his house full of his past projects.
His vehicle of favor at the present time was an old Chevy pickup truck. It had the parking place of prestige tucked between the Ferrari and the Cadillac. Its silver paint shiny, reflecting the sunlight in silvery blasts that belied its age. He wandered into town occasionally, to quietly pick up food, wood to work with, general supplies. He always paid cash and avoided most contact with the townsfolk as he thought of them. They seemed like nice people, he had the effect of turning nice people into bad people. He thought it was the only respectful thing to do to; leave them alone, and because of it he was something of an enigma to them as well.
He wandered slowly down the long grassy slope to the edge of the cliff leading to his small private marina. As he walked down the dock he chose sailing for today, stopping to release the stern line as he stepped onto the sleek sail boat. The diesel engine belched a cloud of blue smoke and then settled into a deep throated purr as he released the bow line, walked back to the cockpit, put it in gear and smoothly glided out into the open water of the pacific.
The sun was directly overhead, bright, surrounded with a sky a pale shade of blue that faded into the dark blue of the pacific afternoon, and John marveled at the water as it turned into the deep shade as he made his way into deeper water, that complimented the sky so well. His world was quiet and peaceful... and lonely. He longed for a partner to share this vision with, this beauty, and chuckled as he wondered; is it really beautiful if there's no one to share it with? Maybe there weren't enough lonely people to make that as popular as the question of a tree falling in the woods, with no one to hear it, does it really make noise?
The sun was touching the horizon, settling over the ocean as John began to pick up the familiar landmarks heading back to the cove and the house. A little farther south than he usually went, blown off course by the gentle wind, or the currents as the water lapped against the sides of the boat, neatly but slowly slicing through the water. The rising and falling of the ocean swell a pleasant sensation.
He heard it before he saw it. A small motor boat, smoking and settling in the water. He aimed for it and rose to pull his sails, starting the diesel engine again, picking up speed. As he neared the small craft, the flames licking the engine compartment flared and John watched as the fire crept up the hull, quickly engulfing the craft. The dichotomy of the crackling fire and hissing water became a general roar of misfortune.
He saw her floating in the water, arms outstretched, suspended by the bright orange life vest and motored slowly over to her. He was afraid to call out to her, afraid that she wouldn't respond. Her head lifted and she began waving at him as he neared her, engine idling, drifting towards her now.
"Oh god! Please help me, Please..." She was sobbing, with her hair over her face, the life vest sliding up on her arms, she looked at risk of sliding out of it and slowly sinking to the depths.
"Grab this!" John thrust a grapple towards her and pulled her to the side of the boat. He leaned over the gunnel and she grasped his outstretched hand tightly. He pulled her up so she could reach the side of the boat with her foot and push up. She leaned over the safety rope railing and promptly fell with a plop on the deck.
"Are you ok? Are you hurt?"
"Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck... I thought I was going to die."
John couldn't help chuckling and repeated his question calmly, "are you hurt, are you burned?"
"No I'm not hurt, well not badly, I got off the boat before the fire got too bad."
"What the hell happened?"
"I don't know... I was just cruising and the motor made a pop, then it started to smoke, when I slowed down the smoke burst into flame. I jumped overboard, I lost everything!"
"Its ok, I live just inshore, we'll go and call someone for you..."
She began to cry again, lowering her head into the life vest once again, her wet stringy hair falling over her face. She sat huddled around herself still sitting on the deck where she landed as John pointed the boat ahead, rounded the corner and pulled into his lagoon, smoothly sliding up against the rubber bumpers reversing the thrust of the engines to settle against the dock, and jumped lithely over the side landing lightly on the dock. Quickly wrapping the stern line around a cleat, the slight forward momentum of the boat bringing the rest of the boat square to the dock, John scooped up the bow line and tied it off before the boat began to swing back out, away from the dock again.
John jumped back on board. "It's ok, come with me..." He pulled her to her feet and led her to the boat house, the small apartment he had that was integral to the dock. As he pulled her inside he was almost overwhelmed by the gas fumes, strong enough the make his eyes water.
"Can we call someone? Who should I call for you?"
"There's no one to call."
"I can't call your family? A friend?"
"My family is gone and I don't have friends." And she again began to cry. "God I look frightful."
Her eyes were red, her nose was red, her hair looked like stringy spaghetti pasted to her head, she still had the gasoline soaked life vest on, the dirty off white sundress, flat white flip flops. John had to agree with her, she looked frightful and mournful. He had never seen anyone so sad before in his life, except perhaps when he looked in the mirror each morning, which was why he never did any more. But, as he looked at the bloodshot white of her eyes he noticed that it surrounded a deep shade of brown, speckled by a color that can only be described as gold. Her nose was a small nose, the classic ski slope shape, her cheek bones high and pronounced. Her chin was strong but not overbearingly so, the classic daintiness tapering to a slim neck of regal stature.
"What do you mean, your family's gone? Gone where?"
"Just gone."
"Everybody has friends."
"I don't, it's a long story."
"Ok... well, I at least have to call the coast guard so when they find your burned boat they don't search for you." He turned, thinking to himself that he sounded harsh although he hadn't meant to.
He called the number from a list posted next to the phone and she listened while he talked in boater jargon. She didn't understand a word. She hated boats, and typically disliked boaters. Her soon-to-be-ex was a boater, an asshole, cruel. She wasn't too fond of men in general right now either, and this guy was both, a man and a boater, definitely an asshole. He spent all his money on his boat, probably all of his time too and had to live in this shitty little shack by the sea. How fucking quaint.
"The shower's through there."
